Five Small Steps To Ruin Your Reputation
by GhostOfBambi
Summary: Lily Evans had a glowing reputation as a pillar of good sense and a poster child for scruples. It merely took one evening for that to fall spectacularly to pieces, and this is the story of how she did it.
1. Step One

**Author's Note: Oh look. Another one. There's more coming. Like. A lot more. All go. All weekend. You'd better believe it.**

**Five Small Steps To Ruin Your Reputation  
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**Step One **

_**Set Yourself Up For A Fall**_

The girl was crying to herself, as quietly as she possibly could. She sat hunched over her desk, at which she sat alone, as if determined to be inconspicuous, fearful of attracting attention from her peers. Long, greasy, unwashed waves of golden blonde hair hung about her face, strategically placed to conceal her tear-stained cheeks and puffy red eyes, while yet another tear dripped from the end of her nose and landed on her parchment, forming miserable blots which spoiled her half-heartedly scrawled notes. She permitted herself the softest of sniffs only when the teacher was speaking, so as to go unheard, and so, to the majority of her classmates, and indeed, to her teacher, Marlene McKinnon remained a creature of no real interest, which was just as she wanted.

The majority, unfortunately, was not equal to all, and for the two young ladies who sat directly across from Marlene McKinnon that day, the petite and normally immaculately groomed Gryffindor was the hot topic of the day, as crying females in classrooms were often known to be.

"I actually feel really sorry for her," murmured one of the gossiping girls, an almost abnormally tall young lady named Beatrice Booth who, like Marlene, was also hiding her face behind her hair. Unlike Marlene, whose hair was blonde and wavy, Beatrice's mane was painfully pin-straight, uncommonly long, and a rather unusual shade of brown, akin to an eggshell. Also unlike Marlene, who was merely attempting to hide from the world, Beatrice was using her hair as a curtain, from behind which she could shamelessly gawk at her classmate. "I hope Flitwick doesn't notice and point it out in front of the whole class."

Beatrice's tone, pitying as it was, was more of an indication that she would rather have liked for Marlene's silent sobbing to be discovered by all, for drama, embarrassing as it something could be, was always more interesting than the monotony of class.

Sitting next to Beatrice at their table, Lily Evans was making no such attempt to hide her frequent glances in Marlene McKinnon's direction, being of the opinion that people who made a spectacle of themselves in public places could hardly expect to be allowed such luxuries as privacy. She turned her eyes, which were large and pretty and startlingly green, towards their Charms teacher. Professor Flitwick, minuscule as he was, could barely see over the top of the gargantuan old book he was consulting. The likelihood that he would take notice of the girl's weeping seemed rather slim, at best.

Marlene McKinnon gave another affected little sniff, and Lily, whose hair, inconsequentially, was a very dark red, rolled her eyes to the heavens.

"I don't feel sorry for her," she whispered, her tone flat, expression disapproving. "I'm _embarrassed_ for her. It was bad enough when she cried in the common room last night, but to do it in _class_? When that prat is sitting two desks _behind_ her? Marlene is making a tit out of herself, Bea. She needs to get her act together."

"Ever sympathetic to the plight of the broken-hearted, Lily Evans," said Beatrice, with a rather wry smile. She stroked her own hair, as if it were a dearly beloved pet. "Wait until some bloke breaks _your_ delicate little heart, and you'll be wailing all over the school."

"That's about as likely as Professor Flitwick becoming an international basketball phenomenon," the redhead replied. "I was nice and sympathetic and pretended to agree with her on Tuesday, but it's been _four_ days. It's time to move on."

Lily Evans, contrary to how she may have appeared, was as sweet and kind, and indeed, as sympathetic a person, as one could ever hope to meet, but she possessed precious little patience for girls who tore themselves up over men who, after all, were only men, and not particularly worth going to pieces over, especially prats like Davey Gudgeon. Davey had often been known to refer to himself as Merlin's gift to Ravenclaw. Lily personally believed that claims like Davey's were likely to make Merlin turn in his grave.

"Speaking of Flitwick, I hope he _does_ notice her crying," she announced unsympathetically, as she hastily scribbled down some notes that Flitwick had flipped over the board with his wand to reveal. "It might knock some sense into Marlene if she knows everyone can see what she's doing, and at the very least he could send her off to the bathroom so she can whine about Gudgeon without looking like a fool in front of the rest of me. And don't tell me I'm being cruel, either," she added, as Beatrice opened her mouth to retort. "You know I'm right. The last thing she needs is to let Gudgeon know how upset she is."

"Well, no," Beatrice agreed. "I think it's a bit ridiculous that she's crying in class, but Marlene's generally not that much of a baby. I'm sure she wouldn't be crying if she had any control over it, but she _did_ just get dumped."

"Dumped by an idiot," Lily pointed out.

"All men who aren't Remus Lupin are idiots," Beatrice countered, stating a belief that was shared by many of the women at Hogwarts. "That doesn't make it any less painful when you love one of them and he goes and chucks you for another girl, and two weeks before Christmas, too. Not that _I'd_ know what it's like to be dumped, of course."

"As you so often like to point out," put in Lily, with a grin.

"But I imagine it hurts like shit, even if the person dumping you is a tosser like Davey Gudgeon," Beatrice finished in triumph, the triumph of a person who had always known that Davey Gudgeon was a tosser when all others doubted her, even though it was a generally accepted fact amongst the seventh years that Davey Gudgeon _was_ a tosser and nobody had been able to understand why Marlene had fallen for him in the first place. "You can hardly blame her for having a bit of a weep over it now, it only just happened."

"I can blame her if I want to," said Lily quietly, but with no less triumph. "And I will. Marlene was a formidable force of nature before she started going out with that boy and he's reduced her to a whimpering pile of mush. Marlene is normally so glamourous. Would she have _ever_ come to class without her hair perfectly styled, or without her make-up on, before Gudgeon came along and dumped her?"

"No, of course not."

"There you go, then. Men like Davey are reprehensible," Lily concluded. "But the women who cry over them are even more so."

"You cried over Severus Snape," Beatrice reminded her, with a soft snort of laughter. "You sobbed like a baby for days."

"And I did so in the privacy of my own dormitory, in my own bed, behind my own hangings," Lily countered, with flash of a glare. "Besides, I cried for the loss of a near decade-long friendship, not because we went out for three months and he chucked me for some tart."

"A lot can happen to a girl's heart in three months," said Beatrice. "Marlene is in love, Lily, earth-shattering _love_, and you just don't understand how that _feels_."

"Shut up, you stupid cow," said Lily, with a barely perceptible laugh, and dug Beatrice in the ribs with her elbow. "Stop pretending to be a romantic all of a sudden. You know Marlene is being daft just as much as I do. You'd never make such an arse out of yourself over some boy. You're sensible. If Karl dumped you, you'd shake him off and forget he existed, not sit around crying and making sure that he and everybody else knew he had you wrapped around his finger."

"Oh, you never know," said Beatrice, turning around in her seat for a moment to shoot a glance at Remus Lupin, who was scribbling diligently away on a sheet of parchment, and failed to notice that he was being ogled by the tall, skinny, perpetually tanned girl in the second row. "Depends on the bloke, doesn't it? I could start doodling names in my notebook and planning weddings and all of that nonsense, if I was with the right one. Stranger things have happened to far more sensible people."

"Well, you won't find _me_ going gaga over some bloke," said Lily decidedly, having long since concluded, due to her terrible habit of forming feelings for boys - well, one boy - who did not fit her criteria for acceptable men to fall for, that staying single at Hogwarts was very much the way to go when one was an estimable young lady. "Not in this lifetime."

"Perish the thought," said Beatrice dryly.

"And one of us ought to do something to cheer Marlene up," Lily continued, a sudden thought occurring to her. "Davey broke up with her at the start of the week, it's time for her to get over it and integrate herself into the normal world again."

"Stop being a narky old hag, we can cheer her up tonight," said Beatrice, and the corners of her lips turned upwards. "At the party."

"At the party?" Lily repeated, with a frown. "What party?"

"Oh, you know," said Beatrice, eyes twinkling, for the knowledge of what was to come was more than a little amusing. "The party in the common room."

At Beatrice's words, Lily's entire demeanour changed to one of a very irritable young lady. Lily did not enjoy common room parties and long was the list of reasons why. The most prominent on the list was that she, Head Girl of the whole school, would be placed in a rather awkward position when her friends started drinking Firewhiskey in the common room at midnight. Her rightful duty was to run to McGonagall and report their crimes, but her affection for them was what prevented her from doing as much. Lily was not a big drinker, nay, she was not a drinker at all, as she was ill able to stomach alcohol and tended to feel merry after a small whiff of the foul stuff. She despised noise and mess and disruption, worried that the house elves would be offended, and was always anxious that somebody was going to have a terrible, drunken accident and end up spending a few nights in the hospital wing. She liked to complain, and loudly, too, that people shouldn't be drinking so very much when they were far too young, and too irresponsible to keep a check on their behaviour, but her protests generally fell on deaf and uninterested ears, unless she happened to be talking to Remus Lupin, who listened to her protests with good grace, thereby taking her off everybody else's hands, whenever he was feeling particularly generous.

Remus may have been kind, but that did not make him inclined to aid her in her quest. She had no ally in her rage against parties. The rest of Gryffindor house would merely accuse her of hating fun, and laugh it off as a charming little quirk of hers.

"A party _again_?" she hissed, her jaw set and rigid. "_Why_?"

"Why not?"

"Why _not_?" she repeated, as if she could hardly believe her ears. "Because that'll be the third one this year, and there's not even any Quidditch on this weekend, and Friday night is homework night."

"So?" Beatrice was the picture of innocence. "It's two weeks until Christmas, and it's Alice's birthday tomorrow, and it'll cheer Marlene right up. What's wrong with having a party?"

"They're _loud_," Lily protested, in an agitated whisper. "Loud and annoying and unnecessary, and everyone gets drunk and vomits all over the common room."

"_You_ don't vomit all over the common room," said Beatrice.

"Things go missing," Lily's whispered tirade continued. "And somebody _always_ ends up kissing someone they shouldn't have and then there's drama about it the next day, and Sirius Black _always_ flashes disgusting parts of his anatomy at people when he's had too much to drink, and besides," she concluded, frowning deeply, as if this was the worst thing of all. "Potter _promised_ me he wouldn't sneak out of the school to get alcohol anymore now he's Head Boy, and I believed him."

"Oh yes, of course," said Beatrice, with raised eyebrows. "James Potter, your faithful manservant."

"He's not my manservant."

"Your crush, then."

"He's not my crush, either!" Lily hissed again, the faintest tinges of pink creeping into her cheeks. This was, of course, a terrible lie, as Lily's crush on James Potter was so monstrously big that were it to take a physical form it probably could have wrestled Rubeus Hagrid into immediate submission. She stole a glance behind her back where, several rows behind them, James Potter and Sirius Black were sitting next to one another and, for what was probably the first time in recorded history, actually paying attention to Professor Flitwick's lesson. "And I actually can't believe he'd do something like this when I _specifically_ asked him not to."

"Tie him down and spank him, then."

"Shut up, Beatrice," she responded, her cheeks now flaming red, glaring down at her textbook.

"You shut up," said Beatrice. "James isn't sneaking out with the other boys to buy booze, anyway. He's staying put and pretending he doesn't condone their lawless ways, out of deference to you."

"And since when do you and Potter have such cosy little chats?" said Lily grumpily, but her tone was slightly softer, and her eyes a little brighter, upon receiving the news that her co-head and, yes, secret crush, was refusing to flout rules in her honour. Unfortunately, she was interrupted by the bell which signalled the end of class, and Beatrice immediately began packing her things away, but Lily was not to be sidetracked. Lily and Beatrice were the very best of friends, and Beatrice would never have dreamed of having feelings for Potter that were anything less than platonic, but jealousy was an emotion that made little sense, especially when, like Lily, one was infatuated to the point of madness. "Are you making up lies?"

"Remember, no telling McGonagall about the party, grumpy goat," said Beatrice cheerfully, and shouldered her bag with great gusto. She poked Lily's nose and skipped away to talk to Karl, her boyfriend, leaving Lily alone at the table, to sigh and to sulk, and to reflect upon how utterly rotten the upcoming evening was entirely likely to be.

"I'll give you a grumpy goat," she muttered bitterly, shoving her Charms textbook into her bag with unnecessary venom. "I'll bloody turn you into one."


	2. Step Two

**Author's Note: I told you I'd be posting all weekend long. This isn't the last of my updates. Not by a long shot.**

**Five Small Steps To Ruin Your Reputation**

**Step Two**

_**As Is Inevitable, Add A Boy To The Equation  
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Lily did not, in spite of her dearest wishes, tell Professor McGonagall about the proposed party in the Gryffindor common room. It went ahead as planned, held in honour of both Alice Prewett's upcoming birthday and absolutely nothing in particular. As she had darkly predicted, the party turned out to be a nightmare, a shambles, a disaster - a painful, regrettable event for Lily, but painful and regrettable for her, and her alone.

It was with very bad grace that Lily even consented to attend the party for an obligatory five minutes, very bad grace indeed, for she would rather have stayed in her dormitory, but was reminded by Beatrice that some of the younger students may attempt to get drunk, and that the Head Girl would be needed to shepherd them back to their beds. It was Lily's propensity to worry for others that prevented her from leaving at all, and returning to the safety and comfort of her own adored four poster, even once her five minutes had come to an end.

It was quite the norm for the long suffering redhead.

"I'll just go and get us some drinks," Beatrice had announced, and did not reappear for several hours, abandoning her friend in favour of sneaking off with her boyfriend, possibly to partake in unsavoury activities in a bed that was not her own. Lily was left to face the party alone, and close to an hour was spent seeking out first, second, third and fourth years who were making brave attempts at underage drinking, shame them into good behaviour and send them back to bed - and she would have done the same to the fifth and sixth years, too, had they not become so cheeky that they felt themselves equal to her. People did not care about threats of detention when there was debauchery and fun to be had.

The removal of the worst of the younger students did nothing to improve the party for Lily. Her fellow classmates quickly transformed into inebriated fools; they seemed to multiply with frightening rapidity, until Lily was quite sure that she was the only sober person awake in Gryffindor house. The common room was promptly destroyed, and long were the minutes spent whisking around and removing articles of clothing that had been left strewn about the room, lest any of the house elves suffer a nasty surprise in the morning. Marlene McKinnon consumed what must have been several times her weight in mulled mead, became senselessly drunk and attempted to assault poor little Lucy Fox, whose crime was nothing more than a close and enduring friendship with Davey Gudgeon's new squeeze.

Hours passed, Beatrice did not return, and Lily began to feel that she was annoying even herself. Abandoning her attempts to calm down the revelry, she offered to hold back the hair of a retching fifth year, and was repaid for her kindness when the girl missed the bucket and threw up all over her saviour, instead.

Tired, angry, covered in vomit, Lily set her teeth in resignation and decided to take herself to bed. Unfortunately, she never made it, for as she turned around, she was arrested by the sight of James Potter,who was sitting by the fire and surrounded by friends, with his arm draped around the shoulders of a girl, a girl who was not Lily, and worst of all, a girl who was really uncommonly pretty.

With all the swiftness of a sudden flash of lightning, a metaphorical knife was plunged into her stomach, but the pain in which it left her was very real indeed.

Heather Jordan was an inhabitant of Lily's very own dormitory. She was commonly considered to be the fittest girl in Gryffindor. Her skin was coffee coloured, her hair black and silky, her bosom ample, her eyelashes capable of giving any man a heart attack with one dainty little flutter. She was popular. She was fun, far more fun than Lily, clearly. She was free and spontaneous. She and James had, in fact, once been a couple, in third year, and stormy had been their parting, but Heather had clearly forgiven him. They were laughing and joking, stuck together like glue, shooting coy glances at one another - _together_. Undeniably together. Even as she watched, Heather laid her silky black head upon James Potter's shoulder, and he looked at her, and he _smiled_. He was happy. Heather was happy.

The knife twisted in her stomach.

Lily had never had anything close to a problem with Heather Jordan. The girl was a little vapid, it was true, but she was not one to judge. They had lived together for over six years, and never had there been a cross word between them. Lily had liked her. How foolish she had been. She saw now that she had been grievously mistaken, because Heather Jordan was clearly a detestable tart, a harlot, a whore, a _bitch_. How could James Potter have stooped so low? How blind must he have been to fall for such a hussy? What right did he have, what right at all, to ignore his co-Head at parties and spend the evening cavorting with ample-bosomed tarts? Was that the criteria that needed to be met these days in order for a girl to win an audience with James Potter? Obvious cleavage and carefully curled lashes? It was disgusting. Reprehensible. James Potter was worse than Davey Gudgeon, worse than Severus, worse than _anyone_.

"That _bastard_," Lily hissed, her fists clenched into balls."That _complete_ bastard!"

Next to Lily, Sirius Black turned around in surprise.

"Whosabassard, Evans?" he slurred, revoltingly drunk, breath stinking of booze, a far cry from the graceful, handsome young man he was in his everyday life, and Lily was disgusted by him. His brow was sweaty, his eyes unfocused, and in his hands was a freshly opened bottle of Firewhiskey. With an angry snarl, Lily grabbed the bottle and shoved him away with force. He hit a table that had been placed in the common room to hold bottles and glasses, knocked it over and rolled into the wall. Glass smashed. Alcohol went flying. People stared at him. In the commotion, Lily went unnoticed. She didn't stoop to help him. She didn't apologise. She didn't _care_. She stormed over to the corner and sat down on the floor.

Something akin to good sense told Lily that marching over to James Potter and ordering him to take his filthy paws away from Heather Jordan so that he could spend the rest of the evening stuck to _her_ like glue would not be a good idea at all. Something like good sense told Lily that marching over to James Potter, roundhouse kicking him in the face and smashing Sirius Black's bottle over Heather Jordan's head would also be a bad idea. Something much like good sense told her that she would not be much better than the pathetic Marlene McKinnon if she did, and told her that she was being completely ridiculous, and that Beatrice would laugh if she knew what her sensible friend was thinking, and that really, she should just go to bed, and that sleeping until morning would bring her much needed sanity. Unfortunately, something quite _unlike_ good sense had taken over her completely.

On that particular occasion, she opted for the Firewhiskey.


	3. Step Three

**Author's Note: A friend of mine tweeted about the **_**Thong Song**_** yesterday, and now it's bloody well stuck in my head.**

**Five Small Steps To Ruin Your Reputation**

**Step Three**

_**Consume Copious Amounts Of Alcohol, Nothing Can Possibly Go Wrong**_

The world was a beautiful place, and sufficed with colour in a way that it hardly ever was, or perhaps it always had been? How had she never noticed before, she wondered? Had she been blinded by authority, by her thirst for power? _Had_ she been thirsty for power? She didn't know. She had always just tried to uphold the rules, be a good student, be a good person. Perhaps that was why. Perhaps that was why she had never really seen before.

The common room was a fairyland. It was so beautiful, and so red, so infused with passion, and anger, and blood, and strawberries, because those were the things that red were for, and there was a lot of red in the common room. In fact, the common room was almost entirely red. Red for Gryffindor! She was in Gryffindor! And her hair was red! It all made sense! How wonderful! How noble, how brave she must have been! How could she ever have believed that her surrounding students were irritating or ridiculous? Why had she worried so much? They were heroes, such gorgeous, fabulous people. Everyone was wonderfully interesting and everyone was terribly nice. Hilarious things kept happening all around her and she couldn't keep up. She felt dizzy. She needed to sit down. Or did she need to dance? Maybe she needed to dance. She didn't know.

She was vaguely away of the fact that she felt very, very sad about something, but for the life of her, Lily couldn't remember what it was, and laughed loudly at her own stupidity as the thought occurred to her. She had no reason to feel happy. Life was great. She was great. Hogwarts was great. McGonagall great. Beatrice great. Sandwich great. House elf great.

Firewhiskey was _especially_ great.

"Who did you get this from?" Beatrice was saying, and her voice sounded confused, having just pulled the empty bottle – Lily's second of the evening – from her friend's vice-like grip. "Did you confiscate it from someone?"

"Who knows?" Lily sang, and beamed at her friend. She felt wonderful and beautiful and she loved all of the world. Beatrice was clinging to her arm most determinedly, but Lily was attempting to escape her and join a bunch of other people who were dancing in the middle of the room. She may have been a little wobbly on her feet, but she was just fooling Beatrice. She was sure that she could maintain miraculous balance if only her friend would let her go. "I am Lily Evans, and no man can restrain me!"

Beatrice, however, was unmoved by this brilliant and impassioned plea.

"Was it completely full when you found it? Did anyone else have any?" she continued to shoot questions at her, and gave Lily's arm a little shake. Lily simply beamed at her. What did it matter about bottles and people when Beatrice was so exceedingly beautiful? This was the _real_ important news. Lily needed to tell her immediately.

"You're so _pretty_, Beatrice," she sighed, and stroked her friend's face, after which she hiccuped in quite a loud and obnoxious manner. "I really love you."

"You're completely smashed, darling."

"But you look like a birthday candle," Lily tittered, amused by her friend's needless concern. She tugged on Beatrice's sleeve and pointed in the direction of the fireplace, where some of the assembled Gryffindor boys were showing off in front of everyone. "Sirius Black," she whispered conspiratorially in Beatrice's ear. "Is so funny, Beatrice. _So_ funny. Look at him hitting that boy with an umbrella! It's amazing!"

Had Lily been in her regular, and infinitely more preferable, frame of mind, she would have borne down upon the violent-when-drunk Sirius Black with unmitigated fury and given him such a boot up the arse for assaulting Bertram Aubrey with that umbrella that he wouldn't have been able to sit down for a week without screaming in agony, followed by more detentions than he could have poked a shitty stick at. In her drunken frame of mind, however, Lily was of the opinion that Sirius Black was the most wonderful creature to have ever graced the entire planet, and she was quite sure that she would forever be in awe of his splendour.

"I wish you were one of those quiet, depressed drunk people, like Karl," Beatrice muttered under her breath, as she tried to keep Lily afloat, a difficult task, as Lily insisted upon flailing madly around like a fish on dry land. "They're so much easier to deal with than cackling lunatics."

If Beatrice had never before felt remorse for the number of times that she had run away from Lily in order to snog her boyfriend at parties such as these, now would have been the time for her to experience the harsh sting of being truly sorry for one's actions. Lily had made very short work out of consuming the full contents of the large whiskey bottle she had swiped from Sirius, and she had been staggeringly hammered before finishing even half of it. Not being used to drunkenness to begin with and having gone terribly overboard right away, finishing the first bottle and hastily procuring a second from Cheryl Midgen, who was passed out by the fire, the normally sensible redhead was now somewhat of a liability.

"It doesn't ever rain in common rooms, though," she continued to babble, watching with glee as Sirius ploughed his way through a small crowd of fifth years, all of whom were howling in pain. "We're always losing umbrellas in my house at home in my house, where I live, at home. I wonder where he bought it from."

"He pulled it out of his arse," said Beatrice shortly. "Darling, did something happen to you while I was gone?"

Glancing sideways at Beatrice, Lily could see that she was looking at her with great concern. It was funny. Giggled. Beatrice was silly.

"You're silly," Lily informed her. "Of course something happened. Things happens all the time!"

"You know what I mean, Lily!" Beatrice gave her arm another shake. "Do you think your pumpkin juice might have been spiked and that's why you got a little squiffy, or did somebody upset you, or…"

"I'm fine!" Lily shouted, accidentally spitting in Beatrice's eye. She felt truly wonderful, although still confused as to why she had been so upset earlier, and there was some murky sadness lurking in her tummy that she was steadfastly ignoring, but otherwise the world was shining and glittery and Beatrice was just being a fool. "I'm just having some _fun_, Beatrice. _Merlin_, stop trying to judge my life all the time."

"Yes, because this is normally what constitutes fun for you," said Beatrice.

"You sound very sarcastic right now," said Lily, frowning. "And my hands are going to float away."

"I would genuinely be delighted to see you indulge in some harmless alcoholism," said Beatrice wearily, dropping the empty bottle onto a nearby armchair. "But I know you well enough by now to know that Lily Evans doesn't _do_ harmless alcoholism, so unless you can't remember what happened while I was with Karl…"

"Yeah, Karl!" Lily squeaked, Beatrice's boyfriend's name being the only word that Lily had paid any attention to. "I like Karl, Beatrice. Are you going to marry him, Beatrice? I think it'd be well funny if you married Karl, you should do it in the common room so everyone can go. Actually you should do it right now, where is Karl? Can we get him?"

"Lily!" said Beatrice sharply, giving her friend's arm another, harsher shake. "Did someone put something in your pumpkin juice or did you fall over and crack your head open?"

"I only fell a few times," said Lily sulkily, pulling her arm from Beatrice's grip and pouting like a baby. "I didn't hurt anything, look for bruises! I can't see any at – _oh_."

On the other side of the common room, far away from where Beatrice and Lily were standing, the portrait hole had just swung open and two people had entered the room. Having caught sight of them do so, Lily remembered why she had been so very sad an hour ago, because the feeling suddenly returned to her with shocking force. The knife was twisting in her stomach again.

"Oh," she said again, pressing a hand to her heart – her chest hurt. No, it didn't hurt, but there was an ache, somewhere, everywhere, a really dull ache, and it was worse than a bad pain. Beatrice might as well have been invisible. "He left with her earlier. I forgot. Oh. Oh _God_."

Beatrice had not been around when Lily spied James and Heather leaving the common room together, presumably in order to go somewhere more private and snog until their lips were chapped and their breath robbed from their bodies – which incidentally, had been just the prompt Lily needed to spur her to drink more than just the one mouthful of whiskey she had permitted herself to swallow. Over an hour ago, the pain she had felt upon seeing them sneak out of the common room had been considerable, but after far too much booze on an empty stomach, and in a very small amount of time, suddenly Lily felt just about ready to jump in the path of Voldemort himself and beg for immediate death.

"James and… Heather Jordan?" said Beatrice softly, having turned on her heel in order to investigate what had just entered the common room and sapped all the light from her friend like a leech. She promptly spun back around, her eyes full of sympathy. Being Lily's best friend Beatrice did, of course, know just what Lily's feelings for James Potter amounted to, in spite of Lily's repeated denials of the fact. "Lily, honey, let's just go up to bed, yeah?"

Lily wasn't listening; she frozen to the spot, watching Potter and his girlfriend draw nearer and nearer to where she stood, laughing at some shared secret as if neither of them had ever had a care in the world, which they never had, of course. Only Lily had a care in the world at that precise moment in time, and maybe Marlene did too. Poor, lonely Marlene, Lily would never roll her eyes at her again, but Marlene didn't count as much as she did because Davey Gudgeon was a stupid idiot boy who deserved to be blasted into tiny pieces and James Potter was… well, James Potter was _wonderful_.

"Let's go to bed, come on," said Beatrice, tugging gently on Lily's arm, but she was easily shrugged off, as James and Heather drew ever closer. "You don't want him to see you like this, darling, just come upstairs with me and we can -"

"Evans!"

It was no use. It was too late. Everything was done for. As soon as James caught sight of Lily and Beatrice, he made a beeline for them both, as he had so often been known to do, his hand jumping immediately to his hair, a move that Lily had previously thought to be an indication that he might still have a crush on her, but which she now knew was indicative of absolutely nothing at all. He looked happier than he had any right to look; there was a cheeky grin spread wide across his face as he took his new piece of eye candy by the sleeve and dragged her over to where Lily and Beatrice were standing.

"Potter," said Beatrice, very quietly. "This isn't really the right time…"

"I didn't know you were going to be around this evening!" he chirped, addressing Lily as if there was nobody else in the room but her, which was no different to his usual manner of speaking to her. He looked to be a little bit tipsy, and clearly delighted with himself, but nowhere near Lily's pitifully drunken state. "Where've you been hiding on me all night?"

Lily's lower lip started to tremble and her eyes were feeling suspiciously wet, Beatrice's hand found hers and she began to find herself being pulled gently in the direction of the staircases. Her miserable countenance had not gone unnoticed by James, however, whose happy expression was replaced by one of deep concern – he sprung immediately forward and grabbed Lily's other hand.

"Lily, what's wrong?" he asked her worriedly, his eyes roving over her face. "Did somebody upset you? Was it Snape again? Did he say something? Where is he? I'll kick him for you!"

"Relax, Potter," said Beatrice firmly. "She's fine, just leave her alone."

She pulled her towards the staircases, but James, who had her other hand, pulled her back towards him, and Lily would have fallen over had she not been held up by two people who were yanking her in opposite directions.

"I didn't ask you, Booth," James retorted, shooting Beatrice a glare. "I was asking Lily."

"Well Lily doesn't want to talk to you right now," Beatrice replied, pulling her away again. "So if you could just -"

"I'll judge for myself if Lily wants to talk to me," he snapped, pulling her back. They were going to break her arms, any minute. "Why don't we ask-"

"WHY DON'T YOU LIKE ME?" Lily screamed, but Merlin only knew why she'd done it. Beatrice and James stopped pulling her this way and that, Beatrice let go of her hand, and she stumbled, unsteady on her feet. She was caught, however, by James, who grabbed hold of her other arm and held her upright. She looked up, and he was gazing down at her in half-drunken bewilderment. He was so lovely, up close. His eyes were pretty. His hair was pretty. His nose was pretty. Lily wanted to melt into his arms, but she couldn't, because he was Heather Jordan's boyfriend now.

"_Sorry_?" he gasped, as if he had been punched in the throat and was having difficulty speaking. This was all that Lily needed. James Potter had deliberately ruined her life, and now she was going to cut him down. Cut him down like a tree.

"You're going out with, with _her_," she accused, looking at Heather Jordan, who was standing next to James with her eyebrows raised and a slight smirk on her face, as if all of this was really amusing. "Of all people! You and, you and Heather, and she's not even _ginger_." For some reason, this ranked in her soul far more than it should have. She felt her eyes well up with tears. "That's not fair, James. I thought you liked _me_!"

"Lily, seriously," said Beatrice, reaching for Lily again. James, however, took two steps back and brought Lily with him.

"I don't, I mean... I'm not, I don't understand." James seemed as if he had been struck stupid. "Evans, what are you talking about?"

"You _told_ me you wouldn't sneak out and get any more stuff for parties, but you _did_," she wailed dolefully, in spite of the fact that she had absolutely no evidence to support this harsh accusation. The tears in her eyes began to slide unashamedly down her cheeks. "And you ignored me all night and went off and snogged with some boobs with eyelashes instead, but I thought you liked me, and somebody got _sick_ all over me, James."

"Urgh," said Beatrice and Heather in unison, looking at Lily's vomit-splattered jumper in disgust.

"I didn't ignore you!" James protested, but Lily had pulled out of his grip and wobbled backwards.

"Yes you did!" Lily insisted, grabbing hold of Beatrice's arm to steady herself and inadvertently digging her fingernails into her skin. She heard Beatrice hiss in pain. That was Potter's fault, too. "You didn't look at me _once_!"

"I'd _never_!" James cried, looking deeply insulted. "I didn't see you anywhere! I didn't think you'd bother coming! Me and, I mean, Heather and I, were just -"

"You're horrible, James Potter!" Lily cried, suddenly overwhelmed by the feeling that she had been badly wronged, dizzy and overwhelmed, and with tears that were now flowing freely down her face. Everyone was looking at her. People were pointing and whispering. Heather Jordan was giggling at her and making no attempts to hide it. Somewhere in her mind, the awareness that she had just embarrassed herself beyond any possible means of redemption was making itself known, and she wanted very much to escape to her bedroom and hide under her covers forever, and ever, so that James would have no way of finding her again. "You're horrible, horrible, horrible! I don't fancy you anymore and I never want to see you again for the rest of my life!"

Head spinning, feeling ill, and consumed by a burning feeling of shame, Lily turned on her heel and ran off to the girls' staircases with surprisingly impressive balance, considering her inability to stand upright unaided, followed closely by Beatrice, and completely ignoring James Potter's loud and anxious pleas for her to come back down and talk to him.


End file.
